


baby tonight just be (the death of me)

by frougge



Series: backbone of the night [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (or a communist bad boy au), M/M, Modern AU, Pining, essentially a batman au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 07:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15238857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frougge/pseuds/frougge
Summary: His eyes glance around the room, noncommittally, trying to think of a way to politely excuse himself and leave the conversation, and——and Theon’s there, on the other side of the room. Robb feels his breath leave him at the mere sight of him, of Theon, who may rush around the streets in a mostly leather get-up with his hair haphazardly pulled up, out of the way, of Theon, who’s now in a suit. His hair is let down over his shoulders and he’s forgone a tie—as should have been expected of him—and instead opted to undo the top few buttons of his dress shirt and Robb wonders if he’s ever been more in love.





	baby tonight just be (the death of me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittlePrinceCyanide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlePrinceCyanide/gifts), [joonswig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joonswig/gifts), [tofugumball](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofugumball/gifts).



> thank u 2 mainie + cyano for reading through this!! 
> 
> some background information: both robb and theon are eighteen (theon is just a few months older). also this might be a batman au but it's essentially a. pre batman au u feel,,, anyway!!! hope you enjoy !! 
> 
> ((the title comes from collar full by panic bc ???))

i.

Robb doesn’t enjoy galas and he never did; not when he was younger and he stood by his parents, the only one out of the Stark children old enough to attend, and certainly not now, when, more often than not, he is the one in the spotlight.

Now, he’s expected to dance with some of the guests, entertain them. He’s expected to give interviews and smile for the camera as if he enjoys these types of gatherings. He’s expected to give a speech, usually, as if he’s not eighteen and well-versed in what he should tell to Winterfell’s wealthiest middle-aged men and women.

It’s ridiculous, really.

He’s expected to have brought along a partner as well—someone to dance with, someone to show off to the press. Someone to appear on the front page of tabloids the next day. He’s saved from that when Sansa upstages him and shows up, hand-in-hand with none other than Margaery Tyrell, and he’s at least thankful for that. Hopefully, for the next week or two, he won’t have to answer why Winterfell’s Youngest Billionaire remains single.

The fact that his love life remains the topic of discussion doesn’t humor Robb, but it does humor his mother, who, during these galas, takes the chance to point out young women who she thinks Robb would hit it off with or who she thinks like him. It gets tiring to the extent that Robb steadily avoids his mother for half the night and does the tedious task of talking with the guests instead; forces laughter at appropriate moments and pretends he cares what they’re talking about.

Mostly, it’s about their business, and if anything of importance slips through their mouth, he stores it away for later.

He, on the other hand, talks if prompted and only then; he’s not too eager to spill his life story to strangers who have read it in tabloids, anyway. He pulls up some bits about his life, his work as he prepares to take over his father’s business and occasionally his siblings, if the conversation calls for it.

“I can’t imagine what you went through,” a woman whose name he can’t remember for the life of him says, as if he hasn’t heard this specific phrase for the past six years of his life. He nods, unsure of what to say, “but all the hardship—well, it has helped you grow into the man you are today, has it not?”

“Yes, certainly,” he tells her, because if there’s one thing he knows it’s to nearly always agree. He imagines thinking about his father’s murder as just hardship and tries not to clench his fists, before busying himself with taking a sip of his drink—champagne that’s served by the waiters flitting in and out of the room—to stall his answer. His eyes glance around the room, noncommittally, trying to think of a way to politely excuse himself and leave the conversation, and—

—and Theon’s there, on the other side of the room. Robb feels his breath leave him at the mere sight of him, of Theon, who may rush around the streets in a mostly leather get-up with his hair haphazardly pulled up, out of the way, of Theon, who’s now in a suit. His hair is let down over his shoulders and he’s forgone a tie—as should have been expected of him—and instead opted to undo the top few buttons of his dress shirt and Robb wonders if he’s ever been more in love.

Then their eyes meet and Theon grins before he disappears in the crowd and Robb knows exactly where he’s headed.

“I—excuse me, I must leave,” Robb says to the woman, his manners forgotten, as he regains his mind and is finally able to form words. He shoots her an apologetic smile as he sets his glass down.

“I suppose that’s—“ he misses the end of her sentence as he makes his way through the crowd, trying to avoid anyone who might want to talk to him still. He knows why Theon is here—knows that it has nothing to do with him but lets his mind wander and entertain the idea that it has, anyway.

Once he finds his way onto the roof, he spots Theon immediately—a dark, tall figure standing by the ledge and overlooking the city.

“Theon,” he says, and when Theon turns to look at him, his heart starts beating fast—too fast—and his cheeks bloom red as he takes Theon in a second time. He’s ditched the suit jacket, holds it over his shoulder now, and Robb decides that in the light of the moon he looks ethereal.

“Robb,” Theon says, leaning against the ledge.

“You look nice,” Robb says, the words spilling out of his mouth without his permission. He smiles after saying it, anyway, because it’s still an understatement, but Theon laughs, the sound ringing in Robb’s ears.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” Theon says, once Robb’s crossed the small distance between the two and stood right in front of him. His voice low and hushed and just loud enough for Robb to hear and his eyes slide over Robb slowly, before flitting up to meet his.

All Robb can think about is that if he stood on his toes—or if Theon leaned down—he could kiss him.

“I’d say sorry but I doubt that you were having a great time down there, anyway.”

“No,” Robb says, swallows. He doesn’t think it’d be appropriate if he asked him out to dinner—doesn’t know where they’d go if he said yes. “I’m happy you showed up.”

Theon presses his lips together into a thin line, already ducking his head, and Robb regrets saying it. They both know why Theon is here—both know he’s already reached into the jackets of multiple guests and taken out their wallets and that he’s taken bracelets and wrist watches, too.

“Right,” Theon says, then carefully turns, lays his jackets over the ledge before stepping on the ledge. He looks down at the road and Robb’d be worried he’d jump, if not for the fact that he turns back to face Robb and grins, “get up here, Stark.”

Robb does as he’s told, because he’d do anything Theon told him to. He missed this, he realizes as soon as he steps up there, as he looks over the city. They used to do this when they were fourteen, fifteen, sixteen.

Theon still does this.

“Robb,” Theon says, his voice soft and Robb tries to focus as his brain caches away the way Theon says his name so he can replay it over and over again. He opens his mouth as if he wants to continue, but closes it a moment later and just looks over the city for a moment.

Robb can’t decide whether he prefers when it’s just the blank light of the moon falling over Theon’s sharp features or when it’s the orange of streetlights and the wild array of colors of the billboards that paint Theon’s face red and blue.

“I think I—“ _I think I want to kiss you_ , runs through Robb’s head, circles around and blocks all of his thoughts. Theon looks at him, raises his brows in question, and Robb settles on, “I think I should be going back, now.”

Theon’s smile drops at that and he sighs as he makes his way off the ledge. He picks up his suit jacket, smooths it, and says, “right.”

The moment is ruined and Robb wonders what Theon wanted to say, wonders what Theon would have said if he was given the time. Wonders if he could kiss Theon now, wonders if—if.

“I’ll see you,” he says, hoping he’s giving Theon something close to a hopeful smile. Theon just nods in response and Robb leaves him there, standing on top of the roof.

ii.

“Hello,” Robb says into the phone, barely awake. He reaches out to light up the analog clock on his nightstand, and 3:17 AM blares into his face. He rubs his eyes, blinks, and is about to repeat himself when he hears,

“ _Robb_ ,” on the other line, and—and it’s definitely Theon. He’d recognize the voice anywhere, even if the last time he heard from him was at the gala, three months ago. He tries not to be bitter about it as he sits up in his bed.

“Theon,” he says as different explanations for the situations swim through his head. Is Theon in trouble, is he—“are you okay?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Theon says, sounding soft and Robb breathes out in relief. “ _I am in the middle of a, uh, situation, though._ ”

“D’you need my help?” Robb asks, already climbing out of bed. He finds a pair of trousers thrown over his desk chair carelessly and pulls them on, the phone stuck between his ear and his shoulder as he considers another possibility. “Or did you just—want to talk?”

Theon’s done this before — called him in the dead of night to drag him out of the house or to just talk on the phone for a few minutes, about nothing in particular. And him doing this now should have been maybe expected by Robb.

“ _Would love to_ ,” Theon says and Robb closes his eyes for a brief moment just to let his voice float around his head. “ _But, uh, I kind of need you to bail me out_.”

Robb tries not to sigh too audibly as he moves to his armoire, rummages for a black hoodie he knows should be there. “Where are you?”

He has to move stealthily out of the residence, as to not be heard by his siblings or his mother. He slips out to the garage and is in the car in seven minutes. He arrives in thirteen and bails Theon out in eighteen.

“Billionaire Robb Stark, bailing me out again,” Theon says, sounding—and looking—very proud of himself as the cop lets him out of the holding cell and he grins sharply at Robb, “imagine that.”

Robb, tired, still drinks in his image; he looks just as Robb would imagine him to. His hair is pulled up with a select few strands escaping, he’s wearing his leather jacket, his gloves, and there’s a cut on his cheek and what looks to be dried blood by it that has Robb frowning.

“You’re an asshole,” Robb says to him, his voice low, trying not to have his cheeks flush too much. He smiles politely at the cop, says thank you because he’s not an uncultured swine and his mother taught him well. “I’m not doing this again, you know.”

And he’s telling the truth—or, at least, part of it. He knows that if his mother gets wind of this, she won’t be happy, but if Theon got into this same situation again, Robb knows he’ll do anything to help.

If Theon got into _any_ situation that could end up badly for him, Robb knows he’ll do anything to help.

Still, he’s feeling a bit bitter over Theon’s disappearance. Or—or, his avoidance of Robb, from the looks of it.

“Thanks, though,” Theon says, once they’re out of the station, his hands stuffed deep inside the pockets of his jeans, and all feelings of bitterness that Robb had evaporate. When Robb glances at him, he won’t meet his eyes and looks as if it physically hurt him just to say that. “I’ll pay you back, sometime in the, uh, near future.”

“You don’t have to,” Robb says and Theon wrinkles his nose. He’s not too into the idea of owing people money—or anything, that is—but Robb has enough to spend as it is. “But, you know, maybe stop doing illegal things?”

“We all have to earn our living somehow, Stark,” Theon says, licks his lips and adds, almost bitter, “well. Most of us.”

Robb tries to ignore the bite—knows that Theon is right, anyway. Knows that it isn’t directed at him, not really, but at the system that failed Theon and threw him out on the streets. Knows that if he offered him a place to sleep, something to eat, Theon wouldn’t take it anyway.

“Try not to get yourself hurt, then,” he settles on, looking at Theon and hoping his eyes convey what he can’t say. There’s something between them, something growing in the long pauses and often unnecessary touches—always was, Robb thinks—but if he voiced it, he guesses Theon would go running and disappear for months, as he had just done. “Or caught, I suppose.”

“I don’t get caught,” Theon scoffs, as if he wasn’t just stuck in a holding cell.

“Right,” Robb says, bringing himself to a stop at the entrance to the parking lot. He has to get back home, before anyone notices he’s out. His eyes flicker over to look at Theon, the blood on the cheek—still there—drawing them in. “You have—you have something on your cheek.”

And then— _then_ , because no one’s there to stop him, Robb reaches into his pocket for the pack of tissues and, instead of handing one to Theon, he takes it and, using one hand on Theon’s jaw to steady him, wipes off the blood. He scrunches up the tissues once it’s done, runs his fingers over the spot and has the intense urge to kiss Theon’s cheek.

“Thanks,” Theon says after a moment and Robb swears his eyes flicker down to his lips.

“I can give you a ride home—“

“—I’ll be fine,” Theon cuts him off, already sharp and full of edges again. He busies himself with readjusting the sleeves of his jacket before his eyes flit up to meet Robb’s again. “Stay safe, Stark.”

“You too,” Robb breathes and, within a moment, Theon is gone. Robb wishes, not for the first time, that Theon understood his proposition wasn’t out of pity. He wishes that Theon had stayed long enough for Robb to gather enough courage to kiss him.

But he didn’t.

iii.

It’s cold—colder than Robb had thought it would be, despite the fact that he did check the weather forecast before heading out. He wraps the scarf tighter around his neck, stuffs his hands in his pockets and hopes his hat at least helps conceal his identity.

All in all, he feels slightly ridiculous as he ends up on the rooftop. He’s too early—always is—but he won’t have as much time as promised. There’s never much time on this day, anyway, but he can’t spend it all holed up in the residence.

Today marks the sixth anniversary of his father’s death—of his father’s _murder_ , and though it should be easier, it isn’t. Today, Robb woke up early, to the tune of his mother’s badly-concealed sobs and couldn’t stand being in the house.

He can’t stand being in the house more and more often, lately; it’s large, too large, and it makes him uncomfortable to think that there are people living on the streets while they have much more bedrooms than they need. While they have a wild array of cars that are worth more than people earn in a year, in five, in ten. Robb can’t remember if he had despised it so much before everything.

They’re to go to the cemetery later that day, all six of them. Robb reckons that Jon’ll show up after they’ve left, probably. He never did get along with Catelyn Stark and maybe that shouldn’t have surprised Robb as much as it did when he was younger.

Now, though, Robb’s on the rooftop. He takes a seat on the ledge, tries not to think about anything in particular and closes his eyes.

There’s a beat—one, two, that pass as Robb thinks he won’t be coming; but then he hears—his footsteps, light as ever, making their way to him on the rooftop. “Robb.”

He turns his head to meet Theon’s eyes and wonders when precisely they started greeting each other like this. “Theon.”

Robb’s seen Theon fleetingly for the past few weeks, knows they’ve both been occupied with matters that they won’t disclose to each other.

“I can’t stay long,” Theon says, as he moves to take a seat next to Robb. He sits close to him—their shoulders and thighs touching—and it’s oddly comforting. “There’s—a job.”

He doesn’t say more than that and Robb’s grateful. There was a time when Robb would ask for details each time Theon had a job and be left to sulk with them when the job was done and finished and a robbery was showcased on the news.

“It’s okay,” Robb says and Theon offers his hand. Robb takes it, squeezes it, holds onto it. He doesn’t want to talk about the anniversary and he guesses Theon knows, from experience. When they first met, he had said some unkind things that Robb would rather not think about.

He rests his head on Theon's shoulder, closes his eyes and tries to imagine that—that everything is alright. Tries to imagine that the giant gap between the two of them that they try their hardest to ignore doesn’t exist. Tries to imagine that his father is alive, the city is doing well and that Theon doesn’t have to steal to survive.

“It’s okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading !!! 
> 
> hopefully i'll get around to finishing the second installment to this verse (!!) and posting it soon,,,, but in the meantime hope u enjoyed this anyway ahdksj


End file.
